Why is Background Character the Strongest Now?

Chapter 15

Ezra leaned back on his bed, arms folded behind his head, gazing up at the wooden-paneled ceiling.

"…Not gonna lie," he muttered with a faint smirk tugging at his lips, "it actually feels pretty good here."

The room was surprisingly quiet. No shouting neighbors. No blaring alarms. Just the soft ambient hum of distant mana lamps outside the dorm and the occasional breeze slipping in through the cracked window.

His new dorm on the 8th floor of Azureus House wasn't luxurious, but it had style—a strange mix of magic and modern, blending elegance with utility.

The walls were painted in a deep blend of black and brown, with mana-inscribed trims carved subtly into the panels. Runes for temperature regulation and noise suppression shimmered faintly, pulsing in tune with the mana lines.

In the corner, a dim golden lamp glowed softly, casting its warmth across the sleek wooden floors.

The layout was symmetrical and tidy:

– Two beds

– Two desks

– Two wardrobes, made of aged wood and reinforced with mana-infused iron

– Two bookshelves, one already lined with neatly arranged scrolls and tomes

– And—most impressively—two private bathrooms, each marked with glowing sigils to avoid "accidental walk-ins"

The place smelled faintly of cedarwood and aerosol mana incense, probably from a spray his roommate had used.

Ezra's side of the room had already been arranged. When he'd tapped his Academy ring to the registry sigil earlier, the storage ring had automatically transferred all his belongings.

His black-and-gold sheathed sword rested on a vertical mount near the desk.

A few training scrolls, blank notebooks, and uniform pieces—including his Azureus House blue-striped tie—were placed in neat stacks.

Ezra lounged with his hands behind his head.

"Not gonna lie… this place is nice. Whoever my roommate is, bro's got taste. Clean floors, air freshener, warm lights, symmetrical furniture—either a clean freak or a retired interior designer."

He chuckled to himself.

"I already like him. Please, universe… don't make him weird."

He glanced toward the two rune-marked bathroom doors.

Click.

The main door creaked open.

Ezra casually turned his head—then sat bolt upright.

His smile froze.

His pupils shrank slightly.

"No… way."

Standing in the doorway, suitcase in hand, wearing an awkward "I want to disappear" face… was none other than Xavier Quinn.

Ezra blinked slowly.

"You've got to be kidding me."

He stared at the boy in disbelief.

"Out of every student in this entire continent-sized country. Out of every bed in this academy. I get roomed with the arc villain of the second semester?"

Even Xavier looked stunned, as if he too had just realized that fate had decided to mess with both of them.

The two stared at each other.

In complete silence.

Ezra forced a breath through his nose and sat up straighter, smoothing out his expression.

"Okay. Stay calm. Don't make it weird."

With a polite, well-practiced smile, he stood up and said, "Hello. About earlier… I apologize. That pressure wasn't intentional."

(He lied. It was absolutely intentional. And fun.)

Xavier blinked, his eyes twitching slightly.

"I—I—it's o-okay," he stammered, then immediately bolted for his side of the room—and into his bathroom—like a scared animal seeking shelter.

Slam.

Ezra stared at the now-closed door.

Then let out a soft, exhausted sigh and muttered, "…This year's going to be wild."

⸻

He sat back down and tapped on the academy-issued communication device, shaped like a sleek phone but heavily restricted.

"I can't even message anyone outside the academy unless I get permission from the Student Council."

The interface only allowed interaction with fellow students and staff on campus.

Why?

Simple.

Security.

The Etherlight Academy had been attacked far too many times in the past—by cults, dark order mages, demons, and rogue awakeners.

Now, everything was tightly monitored.

Even the skyrails were enchanted with anti-surveillance and teleportation wards.

⸻

Ezra glanced at his synced class schedule.

📅 Weekly Schedule:

Monday

🕘 9:00 AM – 11:30 AM → Non-Elemental Magic (Professor Kael Daraw)

🕜 1:30 PM – 4:00 PM → Sword & Mana Integration

Tuesday

🕗 8:00 AM – 11:30 AM → Joint Combat Training (All Sections)

🕜 1:30 PM – 4:00 PM → Strategies & Battle Theory (Demonology & War Tactics)

Saturday

→ Club Activities or Free Period

⸻

He sighed.

"On paper, it looks manageable…"

But the memory of Professor Kael sleeping mid-lecture immediately returned, making Ezra twitch slightly.

"Magic class is going to be a nightmare… Not because the content's hard, but because the professor is apparently allergic to doing his job."

Still, he couldn't afford to fall behind. Not here.

He turned his attention to a glowing notification on his ID bracelet.

⸻

🧾 Academy Points Received: 10,000 AP

"Right… AP."

Academy Points (AP) were Etherlight's internal currency.

You needed them for almost everything:

– Meals at cafeterias

– Enchanted gear

– Special technique scrolls

– Dungeon passes

– Private instructors

– Even laundry.

But there was a catch.

AP wasn't fixed.

Your monthly income depended on your House's performance.

The four major Houses were in constant competition—duels, monster hunts, grades, even club points factored into the rankings.

Currently, Azureus House—his house—was ranked third out of four.

Ezra checked the time.

Still have a little while before the next class… Guess I'll cultivate for a bit.

———————

A vast training field stretched across the open landscape, surrounded by tall emerald trees and distant mountain silhouettes. The breeze was light, carrying the scent of mana-charged grass.

Clusters of students stood across the field, chatting, stretching, or just showing off as they waited for the instructor to arrive.

Ezra stood silently among them, his hands in his pockets. He wasn't really a people person, but at the moment, he was doing something much harder than small talk.

He was enduring Renji.

"…and then I told him, 'No way, that's a fake mana stone!' But turns out it wasn't, so I kinda… ate it. Not literally, but—anyway, my cousin once said fire element users have sweaty hands and—oh, did you know—"

Ezra's left eye twitched.

This guy… doesn't breathe while talking.

For the past fifteen minutes, Renji had been unloading everything from gossip, half-facts, conspiracy theories, to what he had for breakfast—none of which mattered.

Ezra finally turned to him.

"Hey, Renji."

Renji blinked, surprised. "Oh! You're finally talking. I thought you were mute for a while."

Ezra gave a small smile—but his eyes didn't smile at all.

"Do you know what I used to do before coming here?"

"Huh? Uh… were you… a sword instructor? A librarian? An exotic dancer?"

Ezra didn't reply.

Instead, a subtle wave of mana pressure bloomed around him—calm, heavy, cold.

Renji suddenly froze.

His throat tightened. Cold sweat started to slide down his back. He could feel something invisible wrapping around him like a boa constrictor.

"W-W-What… what did you do?" Renji stammered, suddenly regretting everything he'd ever said since birth.

Ezra leaned in, voice flat.

"I killed people."

Renji's face turned pale. His lips trembled.

"You're a—?! Y-Y-You're a criminal?!"

Ezra shook his head casually.

"Not criminals. I killed people unfit for society—demon worshippers… corrupted nobles… vampires… monsters…" He paused, eyes narrowing slightly. "And men who talk too much."

That last line hit Renji like a punch to the soul.

He took a step back. Then another. Then another. He felt phantom steel press against his back even though Ezra hadn't moved.

His voice barely a whisper, "Y-you wouldn't…"

Ezra gave him a polite nod.

"If you'll excuse me."

And just like that, he walked away, hands in his pockets, leaving Renji behind—shaking like a broken sprinkler.

Students nearby gave Renji strange glances. But none of them were surprised. Renji always talked too much. Several had already warned him. But Ezra? Ezra had just mentally waterboarded the boy with pure dread.

Renji stood frozen in place, breathing heavily.

I'll never talk like that again. Ever. In fact—I'll stop talking. Why did I even start? Mom was right. My mouth is a liability.

From a few meters away, Ezra looked over his shoulder and saw Renji wiping his sweat, visibly trembling.

He sighed.

Okay… maybe I overdid it.

He looked genuinely guilty for a moment.

Then shrugged.

I'll buy him dinner.

A few minutes later…

The air shifted.

A strong presence approached from the far end of the field.

A man in his mid-40s walked in—broad shoulders, short black hair, and a large, imposing greatsword strapped to his back. His long dark coat fluttered behind him like a battle flag.

He looked less like a teacher and more like a dungeon-clearing mercenary.

The moment he stepped into the center of the field—

Boom.

A wave of invisible pressure erupted from him.

Students staggered.

Those at Intermediate Rank 1 were flung back instantly, forced to pull out their weapons from storage to resist.

Many fell to one knee.

Even students at Peak Rank 1 and Early Rank 2 were struggling to stay upright.

Only one person stood firm.

Ezra.

Calm.

Unshaken.

The man's lips curled into a sharp smile.

He ramped up the pressure even more.

Rank 3.

Rank 4.

Ezra remained unmoved.

But then—he sighed inwardly.

Can't let him know my real cultivation this early.

Ezra casually bent one knee and dropped into a half-kneel, pretending to struggle just enough to blend in.

The man scanned the class.

Now every student was either flat on the ground or kneeling.

"Good," the man finally spoke.

"Much better than last time. A month ago, most of you couldn't stand fifteen seconds under pressure. Now the weakest among you held for a whole minute."

Small healing potions floated down from the sky and landed beside each student. Ezra caught his casually and tossed the cork off.

As they drank, the instructor finally introduced himself.

"As is custom, I'll keep it brief. My name is Sergei Vlastovich. You may have heard the name on the news."

He cracked his neck and added with a grin, "Rank 7 Swordmaster."

A few students gasped.

Even among instructors, Rank 7 was monstrous.

Sergei's bloodline, the Vlastovich family, was known across the continent—legendary warriors descended from the ancient frontlines of the Demon War.

Ezra kept a polite smile on his face, matching the man's gaze.

But inside?

"Of course it had to be him. Because why not add a future villain to my professor list?"